


Majority Rules

by Zhie



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Coming of Age, Cuddling & Snuggling, Family Drama, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Harp Playing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Music, No Incest Specifically But It Hovers Over the Grey Area, Past Fingon/Maedhros - Freeform, Sexual Roleplay, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:41:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22031224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie
Summary: When Elros and Elrond come of age, they both find that they have desires for different things.  What Elros wants is out in the world, and what Elrond needs is closer to home.
Relationships: Elrond Peredhel/Maedhros | Maitimo, Elrond Peredhel/Maglor | Makalaurë
Comments: 8
Kudos: 71
Collections: Tolkien Secret Santa 2019





	Majority Rules

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Haltiamieli](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Haltiamieli).



> Written for TSS 2019 as a fill-in. The request was as follows:
> 
> The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, The Unfinished Tales, Roverandom.  
> Aragorn, Elrond & family, Feanorians.  
> Poly ships are most welcome, but any or none is fine too. I like rough themes and tragedy with a dash of hope, experimental writing styles, themes of immortality vs. change and forgotten treasures. Feel free to go wild! (Please no sexual violence or eating disorders)  
> Fic, Craft (embroidery, carving etc.). NSFW yes
> 
> 40 hours later, here is that story. Haltiamieli, I hope you enjoy this (belated) gift! I twisted the Elrond & family part to include two of the Feanorians, pulled in the themes of immortality vs. change and tragedy with a dash of hope. Oh, and NSFW, yes. Very yes. Enjoy!

Elrond watched from the window as the horses became smaller and smaller and then seemed to vanish on the horizon out of his sight. Only then did he pay any attention to the other two people in the room--his surrogate parents, whom he had never called father (“We have a father!” he recalled Elros shouting at Maglor once when they were very small and the concept was suggested by their guardians), were each sitting at a chair in the great room of the fortress. At least, Elros called it a fortress and Elrond followed suit. 

In most things, Elrond had followed Elros. In what to wear (“Blue, not red--we are NOT Feanorians.”), who to associate with (“Cirdan is our best of friends, because he is not a kinslayer.”), and how to live life (“We are not going to become blacksmiths or hunters--we come from a long line of nobility and diplomats, and nice people.”). In fact, there was very little that Elrond decided upon himself, which was what made today so difficult.

“And what would you like to do for your birthday?” asked Maglor, only for the umpteenth time that week. Elros had the perfect answer on how he wished to celebrate his majority--he asked to be allowed to spend a year in one of the villages where the men that they often traded with lived. He had expected Elrond to come with him. There was an argument, and opinions that they both had. Elros felt it was time to leave (“This is our chance to escape!”) while Elrond thought it too dangerous (“This is our home!”). This resulted in the first fight the brothers had had between them, and after Maedhros came to break up swinging fists and bitter words, it was concluded that a year apart might well be the best solution for both of them.

Elrond slid down onto another of the chairs and shrugged. “What are we having for supper?”

Maglor and Maedhros exchanged looks, and then Maglor asked back, “What do you want to have?”

Elrond crossed his arms over his chest. He shrugged again. Then he looked back across the room at the window, just in case Elros had decided to ride back. All he saw were some sheep grazing in the distance, and a wayward duck nipping at their hooves. Elros had abandoned him. Just as his father had. Just as his mother had. His chin trembled, and he stood up abruptly. “Please excuse me,” he said, and then he rushed out of the room.

Maglor looked about to get up, but Maedhros motioned with his hand and Maglor settled back down. “He needs to be alone. Stop asking about the gift. Even if he knows what he wants, you cannot give it to him.”

With a sigh, Maglor sat and bowed his head. “I have tried to ease their grief.”

“Yes. You have done that admirably.” Maedhros lifted ones booted foot and then the other onto the table. It was a behavior he and Maglor taught the children not to do, but Maedhros still did it anyhow when they were not around. “Not children anymore,” murmured Maedhros to himself.

“Hmm?”

Maedhros looked up at Maglor. “They are not children anymore,” he said, louder this time.

Maglor nodded and bowed his head again. “Do you think...do you think they will choose the race of Men?”

“Elros will. He already has,” Maedhros said with certainty. “He knows what he wants; the trouble is, he wants that for his brother as well.”

“And Elrond?” There was hope in Maglor’s voice.

“Elrond wants to see the world on his own time,” Maedhros said sagely. “He wants to watch grass grow and butterflies emerge from their chrysalis. He wants to compare sunrises and listen to the songs of crickets. He is a dreamer.” He leaned back in his chair. “He is like you. He is an Elf.”

“He is not like me. I am more dangerous, in the worst ways, and you know it.” Maglor cleared his throat. “I have a harp to hide behind so no one suspects me, but we both know I have a heavier hand in battle.” He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “We both know who he is like. I dare not speak his name--not until you do.”

Maedhros took in a deep breath and let it slowly out. “Yes, well...I cannot make it through the whole name. But yes. He is very much like Fin was. Same demeanor; same voice.”

“Same eyes; same hair...same hands,” remarked Maglor. “It makes sense really. House of Turgon, and they were brothers...do you think he would be the sort of healer Fingon was?” And then Maglor bit his lip, and cursed the way he scolded Maedhros for doing in front of the children (not children...not anymore), and apologized. “I am so sorry. I promised I would not, and then--”

“No. You can say it,” Maedhros said in a small, distant voice. “And yes. He would likely make an excellent healer. Just like...just like he was,” Maedhros managed before needing a moment to himself.

Around the corner, Elrond had stayed hidden, eavesdropping from the hallway. He had managed to cry about his own situation without sobbing, and wiped at his eyes as he listened to the pain Maedhros was clearly suffering. When he heard Maglor tell Maedhros that he needed to see to the cook and inquire about supper, Elrond finally dashed up the stairs as quietly as he could lest he be caught.

\---

That evening, Maedhros and Maglor stayed up later than usual. Elrond had been called for supper, but had refused both times. His door was locked and he would only say that he was busy and not hungry. “He did eat a large lunch,” Maedhros reminded Maglor practically every hour that dragged on when Maglor fretted over it.

Now they were in the great room again. Maglor kept hitting wrong notes on his harp and blaming it on strings that were out of tune. Maedhros had a book with him, but he had read it several times over, and the ending was unlikely to change, so he sat there with his feet propped on the table and his eyes closed--still awake, just in case Elrond decided to join them.

Maglor entertained himself by talking to Maedhros about this and that, even though the conversation was mostly one-sided with the exception of the occasional grunt or ‘mmhmm’ that followed only when Maglor paused and waited to make sure his brother had not fallen asleep (though, snoring would have alerted him of that). “I was thinking of transplanting some of the lilies from the pasture nearer to the house. The animals keep eating them, and I am not entirely sure they are good for the sheep anyhow. There was one lamb that was born this year that was quite peculiar--I think one leg was shorter than the others. I thought it would be rejected, but it has not been. It seems healthy otherwise, and--oh, Elrond, you--”

Maedhros remained with his eyes closed a little longer, but when Maglor said nothing else, and it was obvious Elrond had joined them, he at least remembered his feet were on the table and should be removed. He opened his eyes, and for a moment, he thought he was seeing a ghost.

Elrond stood in the doorway, dressed in blue (what else? it was all he owned), and his long hair (the only other thing he and Elros had disagreed upon, for Elros kept his shoulder-length) was very carefully braided in long plaits that sparkled with threads of gold twined in them. “If...if this displeases you...I...I will leave,” said Elrond softly.

First one foot was lowered to the ground and then the other. Maedhros gripped the chair with his hand as if steadying himself. With his right arm, he beckoned to Elrond. Elrond came over slowly as Maglor held his breath. Maedhros reached up when Elrond was near enough and touched the end of a braid that swung toward him. Then he looked up at Elrond’s face. “Why did you do this?” he asked.

Elrond curled his hand around Maedhros’ fingers. He studied him for a moment and then lowered himself fluidly to his knees. On the floor, with the edge of the table at his back and Maedhros’ thighs to either side, Elrond licked his lips and said in a voice with only a slight tremble, “I know what I want as my gift.” And he brought Maedhros’ hand closer, kissed his palm, and rubbed his smooth cheek against the rough knuckles.

“I should go.” Maglor abruptly stood.

“No.” Elrond turned his head and looked over his shoulder, causing Maglor to freeze. Dammit, he looked like Findekáno right now, and his voice, though soft, was just as commanding. “I want you here, too. Just close the door, please.”

Maglor stood with his mouth slightly ajar, and looked at his brother for guidance.

There was a bulge in Maedhros’ breeches that could not be hidden, for his book had slid off his lap and evidence of his desire was plain for them all to see. “Do it, Makalaurë.”

Maglor scrambled to the door and shut it, checking twice that he locked it as well. “Oh, my,” he said as he turned around and saw Elrond both kissing Maedhros full on the lips and sliding up from the floor to sit on his lap. For a brief time, Maglor continued to stand at the doorway, unsure of whether he was to simply stay there or if he had been invited to participate. He bit his lip as Maedhros groaned and dug his fingers into the long, braided tresses, lifted them up, and let them fall slowly away. His other arm was kept around Elrond to help him balance. Maglor swallowed hard and watched Elrond pull at the loose leather ties of Maedhros’ shirt and begin to kiss the scarred skin, slick from perspiration. Instead of continuing to simply be a voyeur, Maglor returned to his chair, raised his harp, and began to serenade the couple. As the exhibition became bolder and further flesh was revealed, Maglor spent more time looking at his fingers upon the strings than he did at the scene unfolding before him.

Neither Maedhros nor Elrond took note of Maglor’s whereabouts--at least not directly. They focused primarily upon one another, with Elrond crawling up to straddle Maedhros after an encouraging grab to his rear. He had Maedhros shirt completely off now, and while he still wore his clothing, Maedhros had managed to loosen Elrond’s breeches so that they did not tear from the friction occuring, for Maedhros had his right arm between Elrond’s legs, and Elrond bucked against it as they kissed less frequently with more passion. “What is your desire, my darkling one?”

A burst of pain twisted at Maglor’s heart to hear the endearment spoken by Maedhros. From the angle where he sat, it might as well have been Fingon once again. Fingon, who was soft-spoken and watchful, introspective and mindful--but who had also on more than one occasion sinfully seduced Maedhros before brothers and cousins alike. Once, the ex-high king had even performed fellatio underwater while the families were swimming together during a vacation in Alqualondë, long before oaths and swords and other less desirable things. Only Maglor had known, and it was only because he swam out to where the pair was when he did not see Fingon and thought his brother was in distress. Fingon had resurfaced, winked at Maglor, and dived down again while Maglor, blushing the whole time, acted as lookout. 

When they were done, Fingon whispered something to Maedhros, who nodded. Then, with his brother watching, Maglor listened as Fingon touched his shoulder and whispered into his ear, “If you ever want to join us, you have an open invitation.”

It was something Maglor regretted. He had never taken them up on the proposition; Fingon never brought it up again, but Maedhros would mention it every once in a while. That is, until the rescue, until he returned, and found their contingent in shambles, and Maglor at the lead, barely holding it together. Everything changed at that point.

Now, it was as if there was a second chance for something he lost. Maglor looked up as a higher pitched sound alerted him, and he saw that Elrond’s shirt was on the floor now and some of the braids were becoming undone as he rode with vigor against Maedhros. Both of them were still (mostly) covered from the waist down; one of Elrond’s boots were off. Maedhros kept a hand upon Elrond’s waist, his eyelids were drooped and he was gazing upon Elrond. As for Elrond, his head was tilted back and his hands kneaded Maedhros’ shoulders. 

Back to the harp, Maglor strummed chords instead of trying to play any song in particular. He closed his eyes and did his best to keep the music light and unburdened by his emotions. This continued through the sounds he heard across the room. Twice, he peeked--once to see Elrond and Maedhros kissing deeply and taking a respite from their mutual satisfaction, and once again as it was evident they were both reaching climax. Only when he felt a hand upon his shoulder did his fingers cease, and he looked up to see Elrond standing before him.

HIs brother might have seen Fingon in his passion-filled haze, but for Maglor, it was Elrond he saw--young, but not innocent. Not a child--not anymore. “I would offer you pleasure, if you would allow me.”

Maglor gripped the harp in his lap. “What do you want, Elrond?” Maglor could not believe he was speaking such words, but continued with, “It is, after all, your birthday.”

Thoughtful grey eyes looked down upon Maglor. Some of the golden threads were unraveled and hung loose among the ends of unbound braids. Evidence of what he and Maedhros had accomplished could be seen leaking through his breeches. With careful yet insistent hands, Elrond extracted the harp from Maglor’s grasp and set it aside. Once it was out of the way, Elrond knelt down before Maglor as he had with Maedhros, only he spoke no words. His eyes gave a pleading look to Maglor, and Maglor nodded, unsure entirely of what he was agreeing to.

He found out soon enough. Elrond unbuckled Maglor’s belt as the older Elf sucked in his breath. Across the room, Maedhros watched hungrily as Elrond revealed Maglor’s budding erection. It only took a few strokes for Maglor to become hard and needy, his fingers digging into the leather arms of the chair. Elrond nosed at the tip of Maglor’s length experimentally, and upon successfully pulling a groan from Maglor, Elrond ran his tongue around the rim of the head. Maglor bucked, an uncontrolled movement, and apologized profusely, but Elrond did not answer.

“I think he has been looking forward to this,” murmured Maedhros from where he sat, watching as Elrond took Maglor into his mouth. “They grow up so fast,” he added as Maglor let out a particularly loud gasp. 

Unlike the time taken by Elrond and Maedhros, Maglor had watched and heard enough for foreplay to be unnecessary. It only took a few minutes before he was warning Elrond of his expectation, and Maglor shuddered as Elrond gave one last lingering lick up the impressive length, then returned to using his hand upon Maglor. Fluid spurted up, hitting Elrond’s chest and chin from the close proximity. Maglor began to apologize, but Elrond rose up from knees and leaned over the chair, then bent his head to kiss away the regrets.

Only when Elrond stood up did he realize that Maedhros had walked over to join them. “I think you deserve one more gift,” suggested Maedhros. He used his hand to turn Elrond’s head so that they were facing one another. Maedhros had to both lean down and stoop to reach Elrond’s lips. They kissed--once, twice, and the third time, Maedhros gave Elrond’s ass a squeeze again. Elrond wrapped his arms around Maedhros’ neck and hopped up; Maedhros seemed to know what was afoot, and helped to hoist Elrond up the rest of the way. With Elrond’s legs wrapped around Maedhros’ waist, they continued to kiss as Maedhros walked with slow, calculated steps to the chaise lounge in the corner of the room.

There, he laid Elrond down upon it and bolstered his head with pillows. “You have given me more tonight than I could ever offer you,” said Maedhros as he ran a finger along the exquisite column of Elrond’s throat. “I only hope to pleasure you as best as I am able.”

Unlike the technique used by Elrond, who had brought Maglor to climax with timid grace, Maedhros took hold of the remaining boot and yanked it off, tossing it over his shoulder. Then he divested Elrond of his pants with his hand and teeth, and finally removed his loincloth with a few tugs and a final pull. Naked before Maedhros, Elrond did not show the slightest degree of worry nor fear. He parted his lips and panted beautifully, chest rising and falling in a smooth rhythm. Nearby, Maglor chose to take up his harp again, and this time, the notes very fully realized melodies.

“For you, only the best, my darkling.” And Maedhros bowed his head and devoured Elrond to the root, allowing him to thrash and buck and grab at the long tresses of copper curls that had come loose from where he had it tied back at the nape of his neck. Maedhros hummed as he swallowed around Elrond and fondled his scrotum, and Elrond arched his back and begged for the sweetness to continue. Longing to touch what he could not in the way he wanted, Maedhros settled for grazing the edge of his right wrist along Elrond’s thigh and up his side, over his chest and across dusky nipples, and he wept when Elrond stretched forward, curled his fingers around Maedhros’ forearm, and kissed the skin where it stretched and healed over the cruel wound, bringing sensation in such a way that no one should ever be forced to know, but that as an amputee Maedhros embraced for want of something more. 

With vigor, Maedhros doubled his efforts and went so far as to extend a finger from his ministrations of Elrond’s testicles and tease it within his cleft. This made Elrond drop back down and cry out repeatedly as he fisted his hands into the cushions behind his head. As Elrond found release, Maedhros swallowed what he could, the notes of Maglor’s song heralding the end with an impressively timed crescendo. 

The harp was placed aside again, now for a final time this night, and Maglor hurried to retrieve water and cloths and fresh clothing. Then, he and Maedhros refreshed and dressed Elrond, who was too tired to argue that he was old enough to take care of matters himself, and rather enjoyed the attention and gentle touches in the aftermath.

It was Maedhros who insisted upon carrying Elrond upstairs once they were all tidy, soiled clothing left in a heap to be dealt with in the morning. As they reached the landing, Elrond spoke sleepily, “I would prefer to not be alone tonight.”

“I would not dream to do that to you, my darkling one. Not after what wonderful bliss we have shared.” Maedhros nuzzled the crook of Elrond’s neck. “It only remains to be seen whether we retire to your room or mine.”

Elrond’s room was also Elros’ room, and now was not the time he wished to be reminded of things his brother had said before departing. ‘I am a man now,’ Elros had defiantly told him the night before. ‘And I mean man in every sense--man, and Man. An Elven life is not for me. I am not a coward, unable to face my destiny. I will live to the fullest, I will die when it is my time, and I shall know what is in the world beyond this for those I call my brethren.’ 

The words still stung, and Elrond looked down the hall to the door of Maedhros’ chambers. No words needed to be spoken; Maedhros kept walking, though Maglor began to slow as they passed his own chambers.

“Shall I say good-night?” asked Maglor, harp left downstairs, but still he clutched at his chest as if he had it to hide behind.

“Dare to do so, and I think you will greatly disappoint the honored birthday boy,” said Maedhros sternly.

“Not a boy,” corrected Elrond sleepily.

“No. Not a boy,” agreed Maedhros. To his brother, he said, “Come; be useful. Get the door.”

Once within, Maglor turned down the covers and Maedhros placed Elrond upon the bed. Immediately, Elrond realized something unusual--the bed should be cold. It was always cold before this time of year; at least, his was. At first, he thought perhaps there was something unusual about the material the sheets were woven with, or that Maedhros had developed some device to keep the linens warmed (it would not have been that far fetched for him to do so). Reality set in--Elrond’s choice had been made. There was, for a moment, a hitch in his breath as he knew it meant he would be sundered from his brother, but then joy, for the worry and uncertainty he had felt growing up and not knowing what to choose began to ebb away.

With Maedhros protectively holding him on the right side and Maglor snuggled up at his left, Elrond felt slumber settling upon him--though, in some different way now, as if he could dream and be aware and awakened swiftly unlike sleep had been in his days of childhood and adolescence. Before he entered blissful reverie, he asked a question that was on his mind: “Do you really think I would be a good healer?”

“You would be an excellent healer,” said Maedhros at the same time Maglor answered with, “Most certainly.”

Maedhros shifted a little in the darkness and added after a pause, “I know that tonight, you healed me. If you would seriously like to learn the art, we will arrange tomorrow for you to be mentored by the best healer we can find.”

“I would like that,” Elrond said. “An Elven healer, if you please. Not that I have anything against Men or Dwarves,” he hastily added. “I just...I just feel...it just seems--”

“You have no need to explain,” said Maglor, and he kissed along Elrond’s neck reassuringly. “I am sure we can find an Elven healer to train you.” 

“I want to be around Elves,” Elrond said. “I want to be an Elf.”

“We know,” Maglor told him, as Maedhros assured him, “You are.”

  
  



End file.
